


In Tandem

by Parralilium



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, F/M, Getting Together, Light-Hearted, M/M, One Shot, contains an absurd love for italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24438328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parralilium/pseuds/Parralilium
Summary: “They have to be involved. Look at them.” Because if they’re not, then she really needs to retake Body Language 101. Maybe get her eyes checked.She can't be wrong. How come no one else can see this but her?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 140





	In Tandem

**Author's Note:**

> I've never really screwed around with a Nat/Clint pairing before but as the story progressed, it just kind of happened? And also took centre stage?
> 
> (Written + edited over a two day period)

They all get used to it, eventually. 

It’s not like they hadn’t guessed already, hadn’t seen the effortless way the two balance out when they fight, exercise, live day-to-day. How easily they offer their service - massages, can I get you some food, _need a drink?_ \- after a workout. How everything they do, they seem to do in alignment with the other - always making two cups of coffee, sitting on the part of the couch with a seat left beside it - _I’ll drive - shotgun!_ \- everything. 

They all know the others are thinking the same thing, but it’s only been a few months since HYDRA was dismantled, and only a few _weeks_ since the ex-assassin had fully committed to life as an Avenger, moving into Stark Towers to settle Fury’s constant need to be _in the know_ , so it’s seems too fragile of a concept to try and confirm. Especially if they’re wrong.

Natasha is the first to bring it up. They’re drinking at Tony’s bar, a night in for once, all of them sprawled out on his leather couches and she watches how the pair occupy the loveseat - _I call dibs! Get over here Cap_ \- and sit closer together than anyone else, even the _actual_ couples in the room, with their fingers inches from the others and whispering a private joke like no one else exists in all of space and time. It is so blatantly _there_ and she turns to Clint and whispers, “They _have_ to be involved. Look at them.” Because if they’re not, then she really needs to retake Body Language 101. Maybe get her eyes checked. 

Clint huffs, both hands clasped around a gin. “No, they’re not. They’re just old friends.”

From the other side of the lounge, Barnes laughs - a gurgled sound like it’s unfamiliar to his own throat - at Steve again, who has a huge smile plastered across his face. Whatever he’s said, he’s sure as hell proud of it. A metal hand threads through Roger’s hair and he doesn’t do a thing to stop it, or even show it’s the first time Barnes has done that. He actually leans into the touch like it’s The Most Normal, Casual Thing _Ever_ and Natasha tries not to choke on her drink or do anything to bring attention to how analytically she’s watching them. 

She nudges Clint - “Old friends don’t _pet_ each other.”- and whispers through clenched teeth. Clint shrugs. Trust her to raise suspicions to the one person that wouldn’t give a crap about expanding them. 

She takes a quick look around the room. No one else is paying any attention to what’s unfolding on the loveseat, caught up in their own conversations about the newest shipment of tech commodities - Banner and Tony - how best to rally people as a unit - Thor and Pepper - and Sam is seemingly having a full-blown _debate_ with Jarvis. Or he’s drunk and literally talking to a wall. Clint, as usual, sits quietly next to her. He’s always rathered the outskirts of a party than the meat of it. But if he thinks falling silent means she’ll drop it, he’s dead wrong.

She repeats the statement, really emphasizing every word: “ _Pet._ Each. Other. I don’t care if they’ve been friends for a hundred years,” (when Clint protests that - _technically, they have -_ it takes every fibre of her being to not sock him), “People don’t act like that unless they’re involved and you know it.”

“Maybe,” Clint says. 

_Well, you’re hopeless_. She turns her attention back to the _old friends,_ Barnes leaning drunkenly against Rogers’s shoulder, face in the curve of his neck. Normality at it’s finest. It’s absolutely puzzling.

  
  
  


She can’t be wrong. She’s seen _married_ people less comfortable together. Even Pepper and Tony, although strong as ever, sometimes fumble around each other. They bump elbows at the table, both reach for the remote - _sorry - no, you get it -_ bicker over who’s going to make this phone call and that one and _did you do that thing I asked you?_ It doesn’t bother either of them, not in the slightest, but their relationship has that human factor. That everyday awkwardness.

Rogers and Barnes, however, have none of it. They move like one whenever they’re near each other. It’s most evident during Morning Drudgeries, the part of the day when everyone is half awake, bones screaming for caffeine, bumping, tripping. Dropping a glass (or two) is expected because no one in Stark Towers is in full acceptance of anything pre-10AM. Not those too though. If one gets the mugs, the other gets the milk. _You make the toast, I’ll get the plates. You fry some eggs and I’ll set us some seats. No? Fine, I’ll get trays for the couch, Tony won’t mind._ Clockwork. Every fucking morning.

If it’s due to their shared dosing of serum, and that’s what eliminates the cumbersome, then by god does Natasha want to get her hands on some.

They eat, passing each other salt and filling cups with more coffee without a single word. They clean up despite not having to - _you know the house will do that for you? - call me old fashioned -_ and leave in the direction of the gym walking shoulder to shoulder. Natasha arcs her back off the stool - glimpses their hands thread together - or maybe they’re really just standing too close? It’s impossible to tell and she grumbles a few curses over it once they’re out of earshot.

Clint, from his favourite nook of the couch, doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Old friends.” He reminds her.

She takes her mug to the sink, lets the automated system get its hands on at least _one_ dish. “Fuck off. You’re wrong.” How come no one else can see this but her?

Eyes on the screen, he scoffs sarcastically, “Convince me, Romanov. I’d really like to see you try.”

Well, he’s cornered himself now. Convincing is rather an expertise of hers. He’s also literally cornered himself because at the mere _idea_ there’s something Natasha could do to make him see what she does, and because they’re alone, she’s slid over to the cushion next to him. Actually, a few inches away from deposition herself in his lap. 

Tip numero-uno of Persuasion 101 (down the hall and to the left from Body Language 101): personal space be damned: _really_ get under their skin.

She leans in, a tantalizing prospect forming in her mind, “I’ll bet you fifty they come clean in the next _week_.”

He closes the tablet, takes her gaze, exhales. “And if they don’t?” Fifty bucks isn’t an impressive deal, but Clint knows how seriously she takes losing a bet, so she hopes just _glimpsing_ her sore-loser side is appealing enough. 

“You can expect to keep your fifty _and_ gain another. Also.” Then, because she really has nothing to lose, she leans closer to his ear ( _numero-uno),_ breathing into it. “Maybe something else too, if you’re lucky. That’s the convincing part.” 

He shifts in his seat, faking mulling it over. And she knows she has him. 

“Fine, whatever. One week.” 

She smiles and peaks him on the lips. “Great.” 

She’d known he’d go for it, probably because of the ‘something else’ clause, but never afraid to rob Natasha of her Soviet cash as a bonus.

  
  
  


The bet is no secret among everyone - save the pair in question - and before the day has retired Banner is in on it too, apprehensively betting they won’t let on for another two weeks, and Thor follows eagerly, betting only a day, which no one mentions is a losing wager because a) they want the possibility to take claim to some Asgardian coin and b) Thor doesn’t really understand the parameters of the bet anyway. Tony, after dragging them all into a long-winded and completely for show analysis of the facts - _but! America’s golden boy wouldn’t...was anyone even like that in the ’40s? - well, it wasn’t invented in 1995 - yeah, the greeks for example… -_ agrees to wager fifty on _specifically_ 11 days. 

“I will not be easily convinced, Romanov. You better hope your boys are as open as Thor’s shirt on a summer's day if you ever want to see a slice of my fortune.”

Pepper watches them squabble and wagers nothing.

“Why must you all be so childish over it?” She asks on day two, after their wager announces they’re going to the gym and everyone else has gathered in the kitchen. “I mean, you’re acting like preteens guessing when their friends are going to _hold hands_ for the first time.”

“Isn’t that precisely what we’re doing?” Banner asks.

Natasha bounces her hands off the counter. “Yeah, it’s not acting. That’s basically what we’re waiting for.” 

Uneasily, Pepper starts, “You know, friends-”

“Please don’t say _friends can hold hands too,”_ Clint reminds her. “She almost punched me when I took a jab at the details.”

Natasha hums appreciatively - although she wouldn’t hurt Pepper, she’d just as likely give Clint a good whack in her place. 

“But, you know...” he begins. Natasha hears a hint of Persuasion 101 in his voice. “it would be funny shit if you won.” 

Actually, now that she thinks about it, she’s not going to have to whack Clint, because Pepper just might be about to do it for her. 

“I am _not_ betting on the _circumstantial_ relationship of my _friends_!” she protests.

And because she can't help it, Natasha spins and leans over Pepper's side of the table, “But wouldn’t it be _fun?_ ”

“Wouldn’t what be fun?” 

Everyone goes ridged. In unison, they turn to Barnes standing in the doorway, his hair damp with sweat and inquisition furrowed in his eyebrows. Roger’s is behind him, drying the back of his neck with a hand towel and _also_ favouring a look of confusion. They all flounder to be the one assuring the pair that it was nothing, not important at all, _you had to have been there,_ until eventually the boys just have to shrug it off.

“Pretend I didn’t ask,” Roger’s says, but his expression remains unconvinced. 

Then they start up their clockwork again, seeking out protein powders and muesli and anything good for post-workout or carb-heavy. It’s the first time Pepper has properly witnessed their routine, so Natasha revels in watching as she _also_ comes to the conclusion that, yes, there’s nothing else quite like the way Barnes pulls out the glasses _just_ as Rogers twists open the milk carton, how one tosses the butter knife around his back to the other’s open metal hand. How everything is a bit of a dance. Natasha makes sure to watch Pepper’s reaction whenever Roger’s has to squeeze past his best friend to get this or that or _sorry I need the sugar_ and how he always passes him with a hand on Barnes’ waist or a light touch against his non-metal arm. 

When they leave, Natasha shakes her head.

“Was _that_ good enough for you?” She asks Pepper.

“No.” she replies, and Natasha throws up her arms in despair. “But fine, if it'll stop the nagging, I’m in. Fifty on four days from yesterday. But!” Pepper points specifically at her, “You can’t just _decide_ when it’s enough. They have to actually _say something.”_

Natasha smiles. Gotcha.

  
  
  


On day three, she receives a rather worrying text. 

_Theatre room. Get in here. Now. - Clint._

She thinks some punk has broken in again. Or maybe Tony’s finally blown himself up _along_ with his lab and come flying through the ceiling. When she arrives at the theatre door though, Clint’s grinning smugly, so it’s not the first, and he doesn’t _look_ like he’s been in an explosion, so it’s not the second (grinning, however, doesn’t cancel out both, because if Tony _had_ blown up, Clint would find it fucking _hysterical_ ).

The only thing _left_ is the bet. Natasha is sure she’s about to fork over a fifty. 

“What?” She says. 

“They’re, um, well-“

“Spit it out, Barton.”

He scratches his neck, “Take a look.” And he swings open the door.

The lights are dim and the credits still rolling down the screen, a sea of actor’s names and writing tributes appearing and disappearing to a jazzy tune. From the smell of it, the popcorn machine has been used, buttery goodness wafting through the rows of seats and all the way to the front of the room, where the subjects of Natasha’s brilliant wager are sharing a reclining chair and _dozing,_ Barnes on top, curled in half with Rogers arm thrown leisurely across his waist. 

“Hw long have they been there?” She whispers to Clint, physically close so he can hear her at such a low octave. 

“No idea,” He whispers back, “But the popcorns’ gone cold.”

Natasha hums, “And _how_ do you know that?”

Clint grins and pulls his arm out from behind his back, holding a brown paper bag. His dives his hand in, brings out a fistful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth. 

“Want some?” He says between chews.

He doesn't make it look very appealing, (instead, animalistic), but Natasha obliges, takes her own handful and scoffing down the cold and frankly - at this point - a little unappetising snack. 

She doesn’t protest when Clint takes it upon himself to shove a handful of popcorn in her face, because seeing him smile the way he does when there’s no audience to witness it - two maybe-maybe-not-involved super soldiers sleeping on the couch does _not_ constitute an audience - is the sort of sight she’d happily trade a few minutes of brushing out kernels from her hair for. 

“Are you _eating my_ food?”

They jump, swallowing what they can, Natasha snatching the bag out of Clint’s hands and crumpling it. She tosses it down and kicks it behind her. “Nope,” she answers sweetly - although her mouth is still full, so it’s more like a muffled croak than anything - and Clint nods in agreement, reaching over to dust a few crumbs off her jacket. 

It, unsurprising, doesn’t fool Rogers for shit, and he gives them a look that could sour lemons.

Rogers asks them how long they’ve been standing there - _long enough -_ and Rogers asked for the time - _close to 3 -_ and he yawns, and smooths out his hair and goes to get up and only _then_ really notices the body sprawled across his, and Natasha can think of no reason why the man _wouldn’t_ immediately notice something so obvious as that - Rogers isn’t known to be oblivious, Fury would have _never_ hired him if he were - asides from the idea that it was such a normal and downright expected occurrence in his world that it had become as mundane as _breathing_. 

When he does notice though, he doesn’t actually do anything about it. Instead, he shrugs, turns to the screen - _Jarvis? - yes? - restart the movie -_ and settles his arm back around Barnes’s waist. 

And Clint and Natasha can’t do much more than watch, and turn to each other, and hang their jaws open, and _absorb._

After a few minutes, Rogers notices how they’re stilling standing in the doorway - whether he notices the open-mouth gawking is irrelevant, because he doesn’t indicate the fact - and asks if they needed to tell him something - _maybe about a mission perhaps?_ \- or if they want to join him because this is Stark’s theatre for heaven’s sake and there’s definitely room for more. 

Neither takes up on the offer because with the pair already comfortable it gives off a vibe that really _doesn’t_ insinuate there’s room for anyone else to intrigue and burst their little bubble. Of course, they don't actually tell him this, but rather fumble out an excuse about work and having things to do and _oh, I think Stark is texting me._

"Suit yourself," Roger's shrugs, "But if you're not gonna stay, please close the door behind you."

“You think _that’ll_ convince Potts?” Clint asks halfway down the hallway. 

Natasha can’t believe what she has to admit, “Not a chance. There is no way she’s going to believe us. That was something out of the fucking _Twilight Zone_.”

On day four, despite her earlier scepticism and Natasha's expected inability to convince her of the prior days' incident, Pepper receives fifty soviet coins, a handful of Asgardian silver and a crap ton of paper notes, and it’s all Clints fault.

_Directly asking is cheating -_ she scorns him later - _And no fun for anyone else._

They’re back in the theatre - Rogers and Barnes in the same spot - everyone else occupying the front two rows. Thor is trying (and failing, fingers too big for the buttons) to work the popcorn machine. Tony and Sam bicker over a few movies - _for the last time, it's gotta be Jurassic Park. A literal classic - Sam, if Barnes never gets to see Star Wars, I will literally die -_ while Clint watches them with a hand pressed firmly to his temple. 

“Guys, _please -_ pick one _before_ the next decade starts?” He’s met with a wave of mumbled arguing and after a few more seconds of bickering and the chance of a fistfight doubling, Tony folds. Sam does a little victory whoop and asks Jarvis to _please, if he’d be so kind, find Jurassic Park, the most essential viewing experience ever and -_ “I said _before_ the next decade.” _\- okay fine, I’ll stop, just play the damn film._

They get about 20 minutes through the movie, 20 minutes of glancing to the curled up pair in the third row, glancing among themselves, nudges and whispers - none of which the pair notices, but to be fair they’re not even paying attention the movies (as it resides outside of their bubble) - until finally, just as Barnes once _again_ threads his metal hand in Rogers hair in complete Mundane Normacaly, Clint curses - _Jarvis_ , _pause the film -_ and stands up in front of the screen with his arms crossed and says, “For the love of Christ - you _are_ together, aren’t you?”

This, if he’d been wrong - but he _obviously isn’t,_ because Barnes immediately retorts with _what, you didn’t know? -_ would’ve been an extremely bad move. 

And unless you’re the 0.001% richer Pepper Potts, it technically still is.

And before she can take claim to her winnings - that comes much _much_ later, after a lecture to the rest of the Avengers about keeping to their word and _just hand over the money, Tinman, it’s going back into our account anyway_ \- there’s a flood of the usual questions, the usual claims to being the first one to have expected - which, aside from Natasha’s boast, are all lies - until Sam clears his throat and asks, “So, how did it all happen?” Because he’s managed to stay out of this whole ordeal til now and genuinely wants to know. 

So they tell all they feel their friends ought to know, how it had started long before the Avengers, long before S.H.E.I.L.D, long before the serum or even the _war_ for that matter, and it all starts to make sense; Morning Drudgeries, the party, the light touches, the easy way they fall into rhythm, and Natasha decides that Clint had been right: whether or not they’d actually been in contact (or even _thawed_ ) for most of them, Rogers and Barnes have been friends for the last hundred years.

The couple is less annoyed about the whole ordeal and more confused _\- hope you all got your money's worth -_ “Well; if you’d only waited until Friday,” Tony retorts. Seeing the pair respond to the explanation of their little wager in such a frankly _disappointing_ way - _why bet on something that so obvious? - do you really have nothing better to do? If you’re bored, we could always revive HYDRA -_ makes them realise how ridiculous the whole thing really was. But they eventually come to understand that, yes, for some bizarre reason, their friends had all found it _supremely_ entertaining to speculate whether or not America’s golden boy was sleeping with his right-hand man.

“ _Just_ sleeping with?” Barnes is offended first and shocked second, turning to Rogers, “I didn’t know I’d been reduced to your play-thing, Steve. But, I can’t say I don’t mind,” He purrs into the other’s ear. 

“Bucky,” Rogers warns, but it completely doesn’t work because his voice is way too soft and the start of a conversation that definitely shouldn’t be happening in front of their friends. 

So Natasha shoos them away - _they can finish the movie later_ \- punching Clint in the arm when he shouts “Be safe boys!”

“It’s fine - we’ve been doing this since the ’30s,” Roger's shouts as he tugs his boyfriend down the hall, while Bucky just grins like a madman as if to say _fuck yeah we have._

No one sees the pair for the rest of the night, and no bets need to be placed concerning their whereabouts (or _what_ -about). When they emerge the next morning, during Morning Drudgeries, running clockwork around the kitchen, Barnes is wearing a shirt that’s definitely stretched for muscles bigger than his own. They come, they eat, they clean up - _call us old fashioned_ \- a well-oiled machine, perfectly in sync. Once they’re out of sight, Natasha scoots her chair next to Clint, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. 

“It’s, like, well...” she doesn’t know where to go with it. 

“Like they’re two halves of a whole? In perfect tandem?” He supplies. “Yeah, I see it too.”

_Finally._

They fall into silence for a second, sipping coffee and chewing on a few bites of long-gone-cold toast. 

“You know...” She starts and, _fuck_ , she’s never heard herself hesitant before. 

Clint, the perfect bastard, knows exactly what she’s going to say. “I know. But,” he playfully nudges her leg with his beneath the table. “We could always wait until they start betting.”

Natasha laughs, it’s such a devilishly _terrible_ idea, but boy is it intriguing. They thread their fingers together on the countertop. 

“We could.” She confirms. 

A few seconds later a mug - the second that day - shatters on the floor behind them, startling them into ripping their hands back to their own bodies. 

Tony isn’t kneeling down to pick up the shards. Tony’s eyes are glued between staring at _their_ eyes, looking down at _their_ hands, and back up again with an exasperated expression. 

“Oh come on; not you _too._ I didn’t even get money out of this one!”

  
Clint laughs, his arm easily slipping around her waist like it’s also the Most Normal Thing In The History of Ever (god, she hopes it will be soon). Tony shakes his head and storms out of the room - _Pepper! You’re not going to believe this! You cannot deny this one this time -_ and this, she knows, is going to be good.

**Author's Note:**

> It was good to take a break from my more serious commitments and just write a little goof to test out some new styles, flesh out a few characters and have a little fun along the way.
> 
> Kudos and comments are not just welcome but completely adored, seriously, every single one of 'em I put in a little glass box with a date stamp and display it on my shelf.
> 
> And, who knows, maybe there’s a possibility to write a bit of a prequel, a bit of a more in-depth version of Bucky and Steve’s explanation for their relationship, in future.
> 
> (And you can find me on Tumblr, Twitter and Instagram under the handle @parralilium)


End file.
